Page 17 of Let it Burn
For the first time in years, I’ve let someone take care of me. And I like it. I likehim. Like having him around and in my space.
Maybe I’ve been lulled into a false sense of security. Wrapped up in the comfort of coffee in the mornings and long, stolen glances in the kitchen. Of sleeping tangled up in him at night, listening to his heartbeat and pretending it was mine.
But the world outside Zeke’s arms still exists.
And now that I’ve stepped out of that bubble, I can feel it. That slow, creeping chill at the base of my spine. The fear that I’ve lived with for years.
I reach for my bag and phone, hesitating when my screen lights up. No new messages. Zeke made me promise I’d text the second I got inside, but I haven’t even stepped out of the car yet. I tell myself it’s fine, that I’m overreacting. That I can send the text in thirty seconds, once I’m through the back door.
Still, my fingers tighten around my pepper spray keychain as I step out. My sneakers crunch against the gravel, loud in the silence. I scan the lot—nothing but shadows, the occasional glint of glass from the other parked cars. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I quicken my pace, heels clicking faster against the pavement.
Almost there.
I’m steps from the door when I feel it.
A presence behind me—too close, too fast.
Before I can scream, a hand clamps around my mouth and another yanks me backward. My phone and pepper spray slips from my fingers and hits the ground with a sickening crunch. Panic claws its way up my throat as I thrash, kicking and twisting, but his grip is steel.
“I knew it,” a voice hisses in my ear. Hot, rancid breath against my skin. “You let him fuck you. After everything I did for you.”
My blood runs cold. My heart feels like it’s in my throat. It’s the voice that’s haunted me for months. The one from those messages. I try to scream, but his hand only presses harder against my mouth.
“You said you needed space,” he snarls. “You lied to me. You fucking lied, Lena. You’ve been holed up with your neighbor and fucking him for three days. You barely know him.”
I jerk my elbow back, aiming for his ribs, but he’s too fast. He catches me by the shoulders, slams me into the brick wall behind the clinic. Pain radiates through my back. My vision goes blurry, breath knocked out of me. My lungs scream for air. My head spins.
"You don’t belong to him. You belong to me."
I try to kick, but he pins my legs, one hand locking me in place. In his other hand, I see a flash of silver in the dark. A knife. My heart stutters.
For a split second, everything slows—the cold press of the blade, the sharp edge of fear clawing up my throat.
But underneath the terror, something else cuts through.
The clarity of these past few days.
I don’t want to die like this. I don’t want tolivelike this either—alone, afraid, always waiting for the next shadow to fall. I don’t want to keep pretending I’m fine when I’m not. I don’t need to sacrifice everything just to live, but more importantly.
I want Zeke.
Not just now. Not just to save me.
I want himalways by my side.
Because life without him? That’s the loneliest kind of survival.
"Please, Jack," I whisper, forcing the words through the hand still clamped to my mouth. "You don’t want to do this. Just let me go."
He presses the blade lightly to my neck. "You think you can lie to me? Pretend you didn’t want me? After everything I did for you?"
"I don’t want you. I never asked you to follow me," I say, voice shaking. "You scared me. You ruined everything. You hurt people."
“Yeah, you can add Marla to that list."
My eyes widen. "What did you do to her?"
He grins, wide and deranged. "She’s in my car. In the trunk. Tied up nice and quiet. She lured you here like a good little puppet. Don’t worry, I’ll deal with her later."
